


Buried Alive

by n0t_bess1e_b4ss_0n_the_b4ss



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aithusa can talk, Aithusa is super cute, Banishment, Big Sister Morgana, Family Feels, Good Morgana (Merlin), Good Uther Pendragon (Merlin), Isle of the Blessed, Kilgharrah is cool, Loss of Control, Massacres, Merlin is a Little Shit, Merlin is anxious 24/7, Morgana being a good sister, Morgause-centric, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective!Kilgharrah, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, magic is legal, she has a few issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0t_bess1e_b4ss_0n_the_b4ss/pseuds/n0t_bess1e_b4ss_0n_the_b4ss
Summary: Merlin doesn’t like the stranger in the castle. Every citizens seems to agree with him, but the prince and princess don’t. He wants to change their minds because he fears She will bring bloodshed once again.





	Buried Alive

The king of Camelot had three children. Two daughters and a son. The oldest, like her sister, was gifted with magic. She was brave and intelligent, but was thrown into a ditch and had her birthright stolen from her when it was discovered she was illegitimate. The daughter became overwhelmed with grief and rage as her family neglected her for years. Since she wasn’t going to rule, unlike her youngest siblings, she was practically useless. Nobody wanted anything to do with her, especially because she was of dirty blood. As the shadow cast over her got larger, the sister’s unhappiness grew.

Finally, when she was only seventeen years old, the king’s first-born snapped. Overcome by misery and fury, she abused her magical powers to try and get revenge on the people who treated her like she was untouchable. Her wrath was brutal and merciless, spilling the blood of hundreds of citizens in her frenzy. This event was further as the Great Camelot Massacre.

The only way to stop her was through a curse, as her magic kept most people from defeating her. Gaius, the great castle physician and a powerful sorcerer, casted a spell, banishing the oldest daughter to the Isle of The Blessed for one hundred years. When she would return, she would be alone.

As pale arms drag her down into the spirit realm and the incantation ends, Camelot weeps in the blood of its people.

———

**_Ten Years Later..._ **

Now, Gwen was never one to fiddle with magic, but the list of chores her mistress gave her was a lot longer than usual and she wanted at least a little free time today. So, she dug through a bookshelf to find a spell book. She was quite intelligent for a serving girl, so she didn’t think a simple cleaning spell could be _too_ hard.

Unfortunately, it was, in fact, too hard. There was a reason why she was never taught in mage craft and put as a maid.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Merlin asked. He had been helping her sweep, criticizing when needed. He’s the prince’s servant and Gwen’s best friend.

“Of course,” Gwen answered.

She read the spell and directions carefully. Apparently, though, there’s more things that need to be known to cast a simple spell.

Well, it wasn’t really a spell. It was a mixture that created a special cleaning slime, but magic spells were needed, so same thing.

Back to the point at hand, she needed help, so she turned to Merlin for cooperation.

“Do you mind giving me a hand?” She asked and he bobbed his head.

Merlin walks over to the table Gwen was working at. He peered into the bowl that was supposed to hold the cleaning mixture.

“The cleaning slime is supposed to be pink, not blue. You added the wrong solution. Hasn’t anyone ever told you to not mix fairy dust up with pixie dust?”

Gwen blinks.

“No.”

“Makes sense. Err- No offense.”

The boy got her a pouch full of golden dust, so she added it in. She kept glancing at the spell book to do this right this time.

Magecraft has been legal in Camelot for years. The king eventually opened his eyes to the good it could bring and allowed the practices in his kingdom. Though, many mages were still wry to live in within the territory.

“Have you ever had a date before?”

Gwen looks over at Arthur, who has his head tilted. He had no duties to attend to at the moment and decided to hang around the two servants, watching them clean instead of offering to help.

“Of course.”

She hoped Arthur would leave it at that, since escorting her cousin to their wedding probably didn’t count. Luckily, her mixture seemed to change the subjects.

Actually, maybe that wasn’t a good thing because...

“That’s really bubbling.”

Arthur steps back a little. It’s like he was afraid of getting his clothes dirty.

“Don’t run. I’ve got it under control.”

The prince gave her a look.

“Maybe you should give her some hope.” Merlin put in.

“Ah, of course. Side with the servant instead of your master.” Arthur said in a good-natured way.

“We have to stick together!”

Merlin links arms with Gwen and then they both began to notice how the mixture was bubbling, moving abnormally, frothing over the edges of the bowl. Any droplets that dripped down onto the table began to expand outward, growing larger. Gwen stepped back.

“You certainly do have this under control.” Arthur said.

“Wh-what’s going on? I thought it would work correctly with the dust!”

Merlin makes a rapid confused gesture with his arms. He should have noted how some knowledge in magecraft had to be known, but he didn’t want to bring down his friend’s spirits to do this little project.

The slime was rapidly engulfing the table. At this rate, the whole room would be covered. Gwen felt fear pang at her chest.

“The good news is that the slime is harmless.” Merlin said, anxiously messing with the hem of his shirt.

“What’s the bad news?”

“It stains.” Arthur put in, popping a grape into his mouth.

That wasn’t good. Gwen was supposed to clean the room, not make it dirtier! Leaving around dust was fine, but surely her mistress would notice blue streaks all over her carpet.

“What do I do?”

“Try casting a holding spell and then use a removal enchantment.” Arthur suggested.

It was a good idea, but Gwen had no clue how to do that. She looked at Merlin with a worried, clueless expression.

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Merlin holds his hand out and calls out a spell.

Nothing.

In fact, he might have made it worse.

“Try a different finger.” Arthur said. He almost sounded like he was laughing. Of course he would enjoy this.

“Okay! Okay! Don’t panic! I can handle this!” Merlin says and he steps forward towards the bubbling mess. His eyes flashed gold and the slime began to pull together, gathering into one mass.

“Will this get rid of it?” Arthur asked.

“Hush up,” Merlin snapped.

The blob of slime began to get smaller and smaller, the warlock’s magic containing it. Peacefully, the mixture is returned to the bowl.

“Oh, wow.” Arthur blinked, “Good job. I didn’t think that would work.”

“You won’t tell Morgana, right?” Gwen asked him nervously.

“I could. To mess with you.” Arthur said, “But I won’t. Because I’m so nice.”

Gwen nodded. Arthur was a little arrogant and smug, but he wasn’t a snitch. She then turned her attention to the table, which was stained bright blue. She swallowed thickly.

“What do I do about this?”

“Get to scrubbing.”

Gwen finished just in time, because her mistress soon entered her chambers.

“Guinevere, it looks very good in here!”

Good, she didn’t notice the slight blue tint on her table.

Merlin and Arthur stepped aside as the princess strides towards her maid. While they talked, Merlin heard a low, growling voice calling out to him.

“A warlock’s work is never done,” He said. “See you guys later!”

Kilgharrah was quite the beast. He used to be chained below the city, but now he could come and go as he pleases, though he actually preferred to stay down in his underground den. It wasn’t always that way, as he was furious when he was released. He was planning to destroy Camelot for his imprisonment, but when the king himself came down to give a personal apology and even help save his species, he had a change of heart.

Merlin stepped into the cavern to find the dragon restlessly shuffling around on a ledge. That’s where he was keeping the white dragon egg the Camelot troops had retrieved. He would nudge the shell with his nose, churr deep in his throat, walk away for a few minutes, and then do it all over again. When he finally noticed the visitor in his den, he swooped down to greet him.

“You seem a little grumpy today,” Merlin points out.

Kilgharrah rumbles and lashes his tail.

“Do I?” He said gruffly, glancing back up to where the nest was.

“This is about the egg, huh? You are such a big softie!”

“My kind is dying, Merlin.” Kilgharrah deadpans.

Merlin laughs.

“So, do you think we’ll be able to hatch it soon?” He asked.

“I can only hope.”

Kilgharrah keeps opening and closing his wings in an anxious way. When he darts back up to the nest to check on the egg, he jumped to swiftly he hit some stalactites. Watching him be so ungraceful and clumsy was almost funny.

“What’s going on with you?”

The dragon peers down from the ledge and squints at Merlin. He sighed heavily and glides back down to his perch.

“Something isn’t right.” He said vaguely, “The spirits seem restless today. Be wry, Merlin.”

“Ah, so it’s another one of your unclear warnings.” Merlin nodded knowingly.

Kilgharrah clenches his claws on the rock but then relaxes.

“This is not that. Just a reminder.” He flicks his tail, “You may go now.”

Merlin shrugs and walks out. Kilgharrah watches him go before flying back to the ledge. He lies down and curls around the nest. Soft whispering voices hiss through the air and he moves his wing over the egg protectively.

—

Despite the dark origins, the celebration of the Great Camelot Massacre was ironically one of the move lively days in the kingdom. It was called Spirit’s Eve, a Festival of Lights and magic and spirits, a week of remembrance and peace. The streets were decorated, parties were thrown, feasts were hosted, and the whole city was glowing at night.

This was Morgana’s favorite holiday. She would light colorful fires on the torches of the castle and accompany Gwen with stringing up flowers. Usually that ended with the two of them making floral crowns.

“I told you they would be wearing them,” Arthur said to Merlin, watching Morgana and Gwen walk into the dining hall wearing flower crowns.

“Of course we are,” His sister says, crossing over to him. “Jealous that you don’t get one?”

Arthur wrinkles his nose.

“No.” He said and Gwen and Merlin laughed. “So, is your maid your plus one this year?”

“Is Merlin yours?” Morgana struck back.

That’s how the first half hour went, back and forth banter between the siblings while their servants watched with amused expressions. Obviously Morgana overpowered Arthur with her way with words.

When the dancing started, hisses whisked through the air. Then, the windows started to weirdly crack. Finally, from out of nowhere, a pillar of light erupted from the ground.

The floorboards seemed to be tearing open to widen the space for the glowing purple tower. Wisps and misty gales whirled around the beacon, roaring like banshees caught in a cyclone. Horrifying pale, thin arms reached from the crevice, clawing at the floor and waving wildly in the air.

Everyone was frozen in shock, staring at this _thing_ that appeared smack-dab in the middle of the dining hall. Many had jumped back in fright when it showed up right under their feet, nearly lancing them with glowing rays. Although it was unknown if coming in contact with it would bring harm, there was no doubt that this was otherworldly. The amount of magical energy waving off of the beam was immense- it wasn’t only Morgana and Merlin who could feel it.

Windows shatter and the beacon twists, pulls apart at the edges, and dies away with a horrible roaring sound. Flares and flicking embers whirl throughout the hall before burning out. All it leaves behind is the girl shuddering in her hands and knees.

She appears to be barely twenty years old. She’s clad in plain cotton clothes, a size too big and drowning her thin frame. The tunic is ripped at the seams with patches missing entirely in some areas, smeared with _something_ , and hanging off of her shoulders- she didn’t seem to be wearing anything for her breasts. Something as provocative as not binding her bosom was the least concerning thing about her, though.

For starters, her fingers were bloodied, fingernails chipped away or even completely missing in some areas. The beds of skin were reddened and raw, strips of fleshy quicks peeling in a gross way.

That wasn’t the only eyesore, though, as her arms are covered in cuts and scratches. Some are blackened and scabbed over, while others are fresh. The worst thing, though, were the human bite marks on the wrists. It’s like she had been trying to drink out of her own blood vessels.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end there, as her entire body appeared to be damaged in some way. Chipped off nails on her feet, overlapping scratches on her ankles, scraped knees, bruised ribs, blistered forearms, torn earlobes, busted lips- the injuries were everywhere.

Matted blonde hair was singed and smoking at the tips, smoldering clumps falling out around her hands. Her skin is a sickly milky-yellow color, leached and ashen. Pale flesh is pulled tight over her bones and it looks like she’s hasn’t eaten in ages. Tarnished gold stares up at the spectators.

The guards move first, swarming the stranger and causing her to flinch. Shards from the broken windows fly up and hover dangerously close to the throat and eyes of each man. They froze in their tracks.

Someone- a woman- screams in fright and the torches flare. The girl attempts to stand, but she appears to register the severe amount of pain she was in and grimaces, collapsing back down to the ground. The scabs over her knees break open when she lands on them- she’s bleeding all over the floor.

Another member of the crowd, a drunk one, probably, whistles in a mocking way. The stranger’s shredded tunic is hanging down _too_ much and she snatches up the strips of fabric to try and hide her womanhood. She looks extremely overwhelmed and shaken up, jumping and lashing out at every sudden movement or sound. That’s exactly what she did when a strikingly beautiful brunette woman stepped forward.

“Morgana,” Merlin hissed, “What are you doing...?!”

Recognition sparked in the stranger’s eyes. Morgana notices, hearing her inhale sharply and reel back slightly. She sees how the girl glances over to where Arthur is standing and then looks back up to her, stunned. She jerks violently when another step is taken.

Morgana manages to get close to her, even what razor sharp daggers of glass are pointed at her. She slips off the fur cowl she’s wearing and drapes it around the blonde’s shoulders, hoping to help with her shivering and to cover her chest.

The princess coaxes her into standing, steadying her when she wobbled on her blistered feet. People have started to murmur, but the two tune them them all out.

Pale green meets gold.

Pale green meets flickering amber.

Pale green meets gold.

Pale green meets...nothing.

The stranger falls unconscious into Morgana’s arms.

—

“We have a sister?”

Gaius looked over at the prince, but Morgana got to the answer before he could.

“We do. Morgause. Don’t you remember?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, that was ten years ago.” Gaius says.

“But he was fourteen.” Morgana points out, “Old enough to remember a sibling. And it’s not like that’s something easy to forget.”

Arthur shrugged and says, “Well, she doesn’t look like she’s twenty-seven.”

“That’s because she isn’t,” Gaius informs, “Not exactly. The aging process in the Isle of The Blessed is very different than it is in reality. It almost completely stops there, which is why she looks so young. I’d say she’s only aged only three years.”

“Would that make me the oldest now?” Morgana asked.

Gaius nodded.

“Technically, yes.”

“Fitting.” Arthur said.

The girl in question is lying in a bed in Gaius’s tower, a wet rag pressed to her burning forehead. Her wounds were wrapped and she was still breathing, but she was going to wake up in a world of pain.

That’s exactly what she was met with then she bolted up from a nightmare hours later. She almost didn’t notice the pain, as she was too focused on the feeling of hands crawling all over her body. When she saw an old man staring at her in the firelight, she practically jumped out of her skin.

“You...” She croaked and her voice is very hoarse, “I know you...”

In all honesty, Gaius had hoped he would be dead by the time Morgause returned to the living world. After all, it would be one hundred years in the future. But here she was. Ninety years early. Gaius still couldn’t explain that part.

“Hello, Morgause.” He said.

“You...were the one who banished me.” It sounded like it hurts for her to speak, “Why...why am I back? I shouldn’t be here.”

Gaius had been expecting the ex-princess to go on a rampage when she got free, not show this level of fear. Morgause scrambled out of the bed, nearly collapsing when she put all her weight on her brittle legs. She looked around wildly, evading Gaius when he tried to touch her.

“Get away from me!” She cried, “D-don’t come near me. I-“

Just then, Gaius realizes what was going on. She was afraid of _herself_. He was planning on trying to calm her down, but that wasn’t needed when she blacked out from the strain on her body.

Morgause didn’t wake up until two days later.

In that time, Gaius performed multiple check-ups on her. The ex-princess was severely dehydrated and starving, as factors in the spirit realm weren’t the same in the living world. The shock of being ripped out of the Isle of The Blessed was doing a number on her body.

When Morgause finally woke up, she was met to a daze of heat and pain, gasping and wheezing because the air was so different here. She scratches at the sheets she’s lying on and the fabric agitates her raw fingertips. Blackness edges her vision, which is why she didn’t see the figure sitting beside the bedside until she was touched. The caused her to jump at least three feet off of the bed, a blizzard raging across her eyes from the violent movement.

“Easy. Easy.” Said a gentle voice.

Morgause blinks away the haze, claws back the darkness. She sees Morgana and forgets to breathe for a tense half second.

“Morgana,” She says softly and the name feels foreign on her tongue.

“That’s right,” Morgana nodded, “You remember.”

“It’s not easy to forget.”

Morgause sits up, cringing as her entire body aches. She looks at her sister and really takes in her appearance. The last time she saw her was when she was sixteen- now the princess really fit her role of heir; stunning and beautiful. Compared to her, Morgause must have looked like a rat. She was so caught up in gawking that she barley registered to warm touch on her cheek.

“My, have you grown.” Morgana murmured.

“Barley,” Morgause muttered and she self-consciously ran her fingers through her matted hair. “Sister, I-“

Morgana meets her eyes but she shuts her mouth and lowered her head. Ten years of thinking of things to say and not a single word would come out. Shame burns on her cheeks.

“Why don’t you get washed up?” Morgana suggested, “Can you stand?”

“I’d rather not,” Morgause breathed.

Her sister frowns.

“I know, sweetie, but being covered in all that dirt can’t be comfortable.”

Morgause agreed. She was doused in spirit world grime and blood and reckoned that she probably didn’t smell too pleasant, either. So, she hauled herself up and tried to remember where the castle hot springs were.

Morgana ends up guiding her, but she stops mere seconds after stepping out of Gaius’ tower. Sunlight stabs directly into Morgause’s eyes like red hot needles. She reels backwards, shielding her face and rubbing vigorously. There hasn’t been any sun on the Isle of The Blessed, only fog and permanent purple-black sky. Darkness had become all Morgause had seen and this new light was seriously overwhelming her.

“Are you alright?” Morgana asked worriedly.

“I’m fine.” Morgause answered, keeping her eyes shut. “It’s just bright.” Now she knew why Gaius had kept the curtains closed.

Luckily, the bathhouse was dimly lit. It helped with the calming aura it was giving off.

There was a large, rectangular pool and then a smaller, circular one near the wall. The smaller bath was the one Morgause was guided over to. She peered into the steaming water with a slightly unnerved expression. Thankfully, her sister steps out to grab some things, giving her the chance to change in peace. She peels off her dirty, ragged clothes, only now realizing how disgusting they were. She perches on the edge, trying to ease herself into the hot water, but ended up slipping and falling in. She resurfaces with a gasp, blinking dazedly at her own clumsiness.

The first thing Morgana noticed when she walked back over was Morgause’s exposes back. Her breath caught instantaneously; what had once been a smooth expanse of planed flesh was now a labyrinth of slices and hematomas. Puckering, obviously painful openings cross hatched with hundreds if smaller, shallower scrapes and skins, and every single one of them looked like they were on fire.

What could have done this?

“Can I take out your hair tie?” Morgana asked, her hands hovering outwards.

“Sure.”

Morgause couldn’t help but cringe. Not only because her hair smelled like rotten meat, but also because of this entire situation. It’s her first time spending time with her sister in ten years and she’s naked. She never fantasized about their reunion, as her return was supposed to be one hundred years later and Morgana would be dead, but if she had, it wouldn’t be like this.

She jumped when a bucket of water was dumped over her head, spitting choppy locks of blonde out of her mouth. Morgana laughs a little from behind.

“Are you alright?”

Morgause settles with her knees to her chest.

“Fine.”

But she _wasn’t_. All the emotions that had built up over the last ten years were rising too high- Morgause was drowning in them. The shame adds to all of that and she starts to feel even worse.

The silence doesn’t make Morgana feel awkward. She, too, is lost in thought.

She was sixteen when Morgause went on a rampage. For a long time, she was all her sister had. Nobody else wanted anything to do with her. But, just like them, she would end up leaving her alone.

“What was it like?”

Morgause didn’t have to ask for specifics; she knew what it meant.

“Dark.” She says softly, “Lonely. Not blessed in the slightest.”

The Isle of The Blessed was an island surrounded by a raging wine-dark ocean. The shoreline was caged in by jagged rocks and razor sharp coral reefs which could cut to the bone- Morgause knew from experience. On the mainland, there were dense forests and a few ruins, as well as some towns. Most of them were inhabited by transparent people who didn’t speak very much. Thick fog came in daily, sometimes making it impossible to see two feet ahead. That’s how Morgause once broke her leg. The sky was always this shade of purple-black, offering no light the damned. Or, that’s how it was for the prisoner. It seemed like the apparitions lived just fine, like it was only her that was seeing this darkened world.

“There wasn’t anyone to keep me company. Only the spirits. But they didn’t talk much.”

Nothing wanted anything to do with her.

Morgana nodded slightly. She gently rubs golden oils on Morgause’s shoulders. She hated how bony she was- the effects of living on the Isle of The Blessed was cruel.

When Morgause finally got out of the bath, she was grateful for the proper clothes and undergarments she got to put on. They were very comfortable, not sticking to her skin or rubbing against her wounds.

“Can I brush your hair out?” Morgana asked, holding up a brush.

“Do your worst.”

While Morgana is combing through golden tangles, she realizes just what she was doing exactly. She has been treating Morgause like an innocent or a normal person. She was a killer, a demon to some, and yet...

Morgause seems to be getting confused. She turned around and felt a pang in her chest when her sister shrunk back.

“You frighten me.”

For a long time, princess and monster just stare at each other.

It didn’t feel real. The full weight of the situation was coming down on Morgana. She wasn’t supposed to see her sister ever again and yet, here she was.

Morgause didn’t know what this was. What was it? A paradox? A cycle of madness that left her questioning her own sister? A wormhole that constantly repeats her meltdowns? A liberation from madness, or an episode? Was this desperately breaking free of something that was going to lull her into mindlessness, or was this a foolish denial of her only possible anchor? Was this hell?

Fear ached in Morgause’s stomach. Nameless fear. Unexplained fear. Overwhelming fear. She had to run. She had to get out of this room. She had to get out of this castle, away from this, away from this innocent, away from this insanity, she needed to shrink, she needed-

The dam she had built up was staring to break down. She couldn’t control herself and, as her eyes faded to burning gold, the water nearby started to freeze in jagged, pointed shapes like needles. The sharp tips gleam in the light and the torches flare.

“Stop!” Morgana yelled, “Morgause, stop!”

Morgause doesn’t appear to hear her. She’s just staring at nothing in particular, teeth gritted and fingers clenched like she’s in some sort of trance. The ice spikes grow larger, get closer.

Morgana considers fleeing, considers running for the guards and having her sister arrested, but she doesn’t. Instead, she gets close and grabs Morgause by the wrists. The skin under her fingers is sticky and hot.

“You know what? To hell with you! If you want to destroy this room, then _fine_! But if you disappear, if you make me lose you again, I _won’t_ forgive you.”

Morgause’s eyes flicker and the golden flame burns out. She’s still for a moment, silent, then rips away like she touched fire. She scampers all the way against the wall and pressing close to it. The fear on her face in unreadable.

Morgana watches her cower before frowning.

“Come here, Morgause.” She called out softly. “Please, come here, honey. It’s okay. You won’t hurt me.”

Morgause moves, flinches, and then looks away.

“I’m never going to get better...”

The words come out shaking.

“I’m never going to sleep without nightmares. I’m never going to forget about what happened to me. I’ll never be good again, unless it’s in my own delusions. For the rest of my life I will be fighting against the temptation of my own insanity. And for what? I don't know. It's important to keep going, but I'm never going to get b-better..."

Her voice is tight with emotion and pain. Everything is a whirlwind of muddled feelings and suffering. Blood is roaring in her ears.

“I don’t work right anymore. I don’t know how to be happy. I’m just miserable all the time.” A quivering inhale, “I try. I really do, but nothing works. I shouldn’t even be here. I deserve to rot in the Isle after what I’ve done.”

The ex-princess weeps. Her fists clench and she carved bloody half-moons into her palms. She wanted to rip open her stitches, she wanted to tear out her hair, she wanted to _set herself ablaze_ because the pain was the only thing that made her feel again.

“I wish it never happened.” She grits out, like there’s sand lodged in her throat, “I wish it hadn’t been me. I wish I didn’t lose my mind over something so stupid. I know that’s selfish, but I just-“

Tears spilled over and Morgause choked back a sob. She didn’t deserve to cry and yet she was breaking down. All the pent up pain and sorrow was finally becoming too much for her to handle.

Warms arms wrapped around her as she sunk to the ground and, this time, she didn’t struggle. She leaned into the embrace, burying her face in her sister’s chest. She allowed herself to be rocked back and forth because it’s been ten years since she had any form for comfort and she has really missed it.

Morgause relished it all. She clung to her anchor and held on tight for now, because she feared she wouldn’t always get this. Nobody could love a monster forever, nor even family.

—

Trying to live normally again was very difficult. Morgause had to teach herself to stop drinking out of her veins when she got thirsty and not attack when there was a sudden sound. Ten years at the Isle of The Blessed has shattered her into pieces.

By then, most of Camelot knew about the killer’s return. They avoided her like she was the plague and cowered if they couldn’t flee. They would bow down low with their heads tucked so they wouldn’t make eye contact. The action hurt Morgause.

That was the other thing, too. The pain. Morgause’s body ached constantly, strained from her wounds. On most days, she just wanted to lie in bed and not move at all, but she dragged herself out one evening.

Apparently, there was some kind of festival that happened every year, celebrating her banishment. It was almost offensive, but Morgause could understand why the people had such a holiday.

Morgana was alerted of her sister’s presence when she heard people squealing and yelping in fear. She turned around to see Morgause standing around cowering citizens, looking generally upset.

“Sister,” Morgana says, waving her over, “Good evening! I’m happy to see you out here.”

Morgause frowns, watching the people skitter away from her. She rubs her arms, gazing over all the stands set up.

“So, this festival... It, umm...”

It was making a mockery of her. It was demonizing her further. It should be banned.

“It’s nice.”

“It has been going on for quite some time now.” Morgana says, “Why don’t you try some of the festivities? It would be fun!”

“Ah- fun. Right. Okay, I can do that.”

Morgause looked around and then walked up to one of the stands giving out candles, causing the man running the booth to duck his head.

“P-Princess Morgause!” He quavered.

Morgause made a face of distaste. She was never referred to as “Princess” before she got banished, nor was she ever bowed to. She always wanted it, but not like this.

“What are the candles for?”

“Th-they’re incenses. We-we light them to p-pay respects to the spirits.” The man explained shakily.

“Oh. May I buy one?”

He shoves a wax stick into her hands before she could even get her gold out. Morgause takes this as a sign to leave and walks over to the fountain at the center of the pavilion. She doesn’t need a match, instead using her magic to light the wick. A sweet aroma wafts from the smoke.

Morgana watches from where she’s standing, smiling softly. Merlin, Arthur, and Gwen walk over to her and she waved.

“How’s she doing?” Gwen asked. She was one of the only people in Camelot who didn’t treat Morgause like she was the devil, mainly because she hadn’t been in the kingdom when the whole incident went down.

“She’s having some problems fitting in.” Morgana admits.

“Likewise.” Merlin said and Arthur elbows him in the ribs.

“Poor girl.” Gwen frowned, “People will come around sooner or later.”

“They don’t _have_ to do anyth- OW!” Merlin yelped when Arthur kicks him in the shin.

“Whose side are you on?” The prince hissed.

“I’m not the bad guy here!” Merlin raised his hands, “I’m just simply saying that people have every right to be wry of her.”

“She’s different now.” Morgana says, glowering at the warlock, “She changed.”

“Taking out snake’s fangs doesn’t mean it’s any less venomous.”

“That’s a terrible example.” Arthur says.

Luckily Morgause isn’t in earshot, but she knows she’s probably being talked out. She always is.

“Oh no! It went out...”

She looks to her left and sees a group of little kids standing a few feet away. One of their candles has been blown out by the wind.

“Oh, here. Let me help you.”

Morgause’s eyes flashed gold and a flame sparks on the wick.

“There you go! The wind is kind of strong tonight and-“

“MORGAUSE IS TRYING TO BURN US ALIVE!!” One of the kids warbled.

It wasn’t only the children who ran off in different directions, but the other citizens, too. They all started to scream bloody murder, shoving and tripping over each other to try and get away.

“Nay! Wait!” Morgause pleaded, “Friends, please! Calm down! I mean no harm!”

They didn’t listen.

“Friends-!!”

The frightened screeching gets louder, more overwhelming.

“ _BE STILL!_ ”

The candles flare, flames towering high into the air and cracking embers in every direction. The cobble below cracks when Morgause stamped her foot and people drop to the ground, trembling as they bow. She notices their terror and her anger is smothered. She steps back a little.

“Friends, I-“ She hangs her head, “I am sorry... I shouldn’t have intruded on your festival. Please, enjoy the rest of your night. I will take my leave now.”

Morgause walks defeatedly back towards the castle, avoiding her sister’s saddened gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed some shady guy slinking out of a nearby running and into an alley. Then, the ground trembled under her feet.

—

Merlin staggered down into the underground den with his hands over his ears.

“What are you doing?!”

Kilgharrah is floundering around the cavern in a very ungraceful way. His tail lashes, breaking apart rock towers and spewing chunks everywhere. He didn’t even notice Merlin for a moment due to his loud, panicked roaring.

“Kilgharrah!”

The great dragon snaps his head around and lands messily in front of the warlock. His right wing is bleeding a little but he doesn’t appear to care.

“The egg!” He cries and there’s more fear in his eyes than Merlin has ever seen, “It was stolen! The egg was stolen!! We must get it back!”

—

“How much do you think it’ll go for?”

“Thousands, probably.”

“I hope so. It was a pain to get.”

Morgause saw the shell of a pure white egg glitter in soft torchlight. She knew it was a good idea to follow that guy she saw, even if it took her down to the lower parts of the city.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“But Ursa isn’t back yet.”

“He knows where the meeting spot is. He can catch up.”

The two men started to walk deeper into the dark alley and Morgause attempted to follow, but a hand covers her mouth. She’s shoved roughly against the wall by a large, bulky man. Yellow teeth smirk at her.

“Well, aren’t you a beauty.”

A hand glides up her leg, spending too much time between her inner thighs. Morgause makes a muffled cry as the touch moves to her chest, rubbing and groping.

“I think I can show up a little late.”

Adrenaline pumped through Morgause’s veins. The man leans closer to her and is breath is hot against her collarbone, smelling like ale and meat. She doesn’t even think to use her magic, instead clamping her teeth down on the man’s ear and jerked her head to the side. Blood squirts onto her face and she gags from the metallic taste in her mouth, while the man screams. She spits out the ripped off ear and strikes the attacker with rock pillars raised from the ground by her magic. One nails the man hard in the jaw, which was enough to knock him unconscious.

Morgause could have killed him, but she had enough blood on her hands, so she left him in the alleyway and chased after the other two men. Her rapid footsteps seemed to alert them.

“Someone is coming!”

Morgause thrusted a hand outward and a jagged bolt of lightning shot out from her palm. It missed, blowing into one of the walls, and the brown haired man charged into her with enough to make her topple backwards. Morgause hit the wall hard and then jerked around, narrowing dodging the end of a flail. When she moved, she heard a tearing sound and pain exploded in her side.

Wonderful.

Morgause shot a beam of ice out of her palm, managing to hit the one with beard in the shoulder. She rushes past him, snatching up the egg from his numbing arms. Now that she had it, she really didn’t know where to go.

Something hard connects with the back of her head; Morgause is on the ground. She lands on her side, making sure to not crush the egg when she fell. The brunette man towers over her, a snarl on his face. He reaches for the egg and Morgause bites his hand.

“You little brat.” He growled.

Morgause feels like her life is in danger. She inhales a hissing breath and then exhaled a beam of ice, shooting the man down the throat. He wheezes and stumbles backwards, pawing tentatively at his neck. Then, he shivers.

The bandit is unable to scream as his insides freeze together. His olive skin starts to whiten while his body gets colder and colder. When he falls, his body is stiff, eyes and mouth wide open.

Morgause stares in horror and scrambled to her feet. That was the perfect moment to be jumped by the remaining man. His heavy body rams into hers and she’s back on her knees, shielding the egg with her body. The fear caused by the sneak attack made her rip rocks from the ground. Flying chunks rain from the sky. A soft _tap tap tap_ makes her stomach twist up.

A tiny silvery-white snout breaks out of the shell and big chestnut eyes peer out of the egg. Adorably small claws reach up and are set on Morgause’s nose. She smiled.

“Hello there.”

A bellowing battlecry bounces off of the alleyway’s walls and Morgause’s eyes flash molten gold. The bandit running up behind her is impaled through the stomach with a sharp stone spike, lancing his body up into the air. A horrible shock runs through Morgause’s veins, but she ignores it. She takes off the cowl and wraps it around the baby dragon.

When she finally finds the underground den, she was this close to being devoured by a livid bronze dragon. She steps back when he lands heavily in front of her, teeth bared and snarling. Then, he pulls away a little when she holds out the hatchling.

“Bandits took the egg. I didn’t. I swear. I just got it back.”

The dragons picks up the hatchling by the tail with his teeth, causing it to chirp in surprise. He sets it on a ledge and then lowers his head, pressing his nose against Morgause, huge compared to her. He inhales deeply and then notices the red patch on her shirt. She notices, too, then backs up.

“I’ll be going now.”

Kilgharrah watches her leave. He looks at Aithusa, whose eyes are locked on the exit. He brings her up to the nest and lies down, listening to hissing whispers recede down the tunnel.


End file.
